Redtail Rise the fall of rome

red dusk steps from the trees without haste.

the elk scent is thick here, pressed into the snow and earth, but it is the man’s pause that draws his eye. the way he kneels. the way his gaze never leaves the treeline. not careless. not foolish.

red dusk lifts his tail into a high, steady flag. not threat. not welcome. a question carried in posture alone.

who are you?

he does not bare his teeth. his weight settles forward just enough to be felt, rusted coat catching the last light as shadows stretch long around them. the rise is behind him, unseen but present, bound into his stance.